


Orchid

by expendable



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Food Metaphors, No Beta, Original Character(s), Punishment, Restaurants, Slow Build, Workplace Sex, dine and dash, really obscure foodie talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expendable/pseuds/expendable
Summary: Rey Palpatine is a downtrodden accountant and food snob who is tricking into fronting the bill yet again for her flaky roommate after being ditched at their weekly dinner together. However, her decision to save a little money is going to end up costing her big time...
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Unlike my other WIP, No Plan Survives, this story has six total chapters written and ready for posting, so expect another update next week!)
> 
> Will add more tags as I think of them: feel free to suggest tags.

Chapter 1

The notion that Brussel sprouts were not a sexy vegetable was completely wrong. 

Rey Palpatine was almost rapturous with delight as she selected another plump specimen with her fork. She brought the sprout to her mouth and closed her eyes with a smile upon her lips after the fascinating taste hit her tongue yet again. 

“Why can’t I make them taste this good at home?” her dining companion, another millennial, and her best friend, Abigail asked. Abby’s dark brows furrowed as she held her forked sprout up in the air, examining it from multiple angles and with extreme suspicion. 

“Pancetta,” said Rey reverently, “cooking them in a pan with bacon just isn’t the same. There isn’t enough fat to render in plain old supermarket bacon for mouth-watering sprouts. Maybe if you ordered some Nunske’s but I heard they cure their own pancetta here. Can you imagine? Most home cooks don’t use enough fat to make vegetables actually appetizing. It’s one of the things I appreciate about this place. Everything is done with so much care and respect for the ingredients. It’s really exceptional to find this sort of place outside a major city.”

‘This place’ was a modern and economically sized restaurant she had delightfully come across on a walk home from work three weeks ago. The entrance had seemed to appear from a jungle of vines and ivy weaving through a small trellis opening. A trendy chalkboard sign out front said The Orchid Bar in fancy cursive script. At first, Rey thought maybe the place was a lesbian bar, but a quick Google search had revealed the restaurant had taken over the space a few years ago and was still trying to find its feet. 

“Why hello, Julia Child!” exclaimed Abby, “I had no idea I was dining in such esteemed company tonight!”

“Stop that,” said Rey. “You better not use the voice.”

“I won’t do the voice,” promised Abby, “although I am sorely tempted.

Abby was an aspiring actress. While she held on to her aspirations through all sorts of challenging auditions and rejections, she actually was one of the few rare people who did not resort to waiting tables while waiting for her big break. Instead, Abby made her bread and butter as a small-time voice-over actor, mostly providing commentary on online videos or using soothing tones in toilet paper commercials. 

“I only want to be around food when I’m eating it,” she told Rey the first day they became roommates. Rey had returned from the small market down the street with two bags of groceries, bemoaning the lack of fresh produce, but extending the invitation for Abby to join her early the next morning at a local farm market. It would take forty minutes on the train, but Rey’s research would be worth it for the best and plumpest berries, the youngest and freshest asparagus, and abundant early spring ramps.

Rey shook her head to remove the unpleasant memory of the way Abby had observed her unloading the grocery bags and placing the first items of sustenance in their new shared kitchen. Abby had watched from the black leather couch, which was shoved against the furthest wall from the kitchen in the open concept apartment. The real answer to Abby’s earlier question was that she never spent enough time in the kitchen to even cut a single brussel sprout, never mind cook an entire pan. Abby treated the kitchen as a contamination zone, entering only to quickly snatch her leftover takeout containers or a stray apple from the fridge. The face she made when using the microwave reminded Rey of the face her teacher had made when Rey was learning how to drive and she was in the front seat. Something terrible could happen at any moment, and it was completely out of Abby’s control. 

Rey tapped Abby’s fork with her own as they both met in the shallow oval serving dish. There were three sprouts left and she was determined to enjoy at least two of them. Despite their differences of opinion when it came to cooking good food and the worth of it for the amount of effort and interaction with kitchen appliances one had to muster to make that happen, each woman had a healthy appetite and could usually agree that sharing a meal together on Friday nights was one of the things they enjoyed most about being roommates. 

“So,” started Abby, as she surrendered the remaining morsels of the dish to Rey, “I know you hate to talk about it, but…”

Rey couldn’t protest, her mouth was full of the last bite and she wasn’t going to miss appreciating the umami and char on the sprout. She even detected a splash of lemon juice that cut through the savory pancetta with a pleasing hit of acidity. The dish was so simple and yet so complex in flavor. Rey silently sent an appreciative high five to the chefs in the kitchen that evening as Abby started down a predictable route.

“You know, we’d probably get more dates if we didn’t share a dish of Brussel sprouts after eating trout together on a Friday night. We are twenty-seven year old women! We are healthy and hot! I love you, but I get really sick of sitting here together every week after we’ve swiped the wrong way on all the guys in our queues.” Here Abby referred to the popular dating app of the moment, MkeSpce. 

Rey set down her fork. “I just don’t see the point,” she said, “Why waste my time when I can come to a place like this, with someone I actually enjoy and leave with all my senses satisfied?”

“All your senses?” Abby prodded, “All of your senses?”

“Sex isn’t everything, Abby” 

“If food is that important to you, you can include it in the sex, dingbat!” Abby cawed. The man at the table next to them sent over a dirty look. Abby reduced her voice to a whisper, “How long has it been since you got laid?”

“None of your business.” Rey crossed her arms. Now it was her turn for some brow furrowing. 

The correct answer was four months ago. The incident had not occurred at her apartment, otherwise, Abby definitely would have remembered. She was the type of person who enjoyed hearing about other people’s encounters almost as much as she enjoyed her own exploits. Keeping Abby in the dark was necessary for Rey, who didn’t particularly want to remember the way she had left his apartment the next morning, disappointed, after eating some rubbery over-scrambled eggs while sitting on a large pile of laundry (“Clean, of course,” he’d waved towards the pile like it was a normal thing to sit on). No wonder she was losing her faith in MkeSpce. How long had it been since she had enjoyed an actual romantic encounter? Not a hasty hookup, but a date with excitement and anticipation--the same sweet craving she was looking forward to enjoying on her way home tonight when she’d stop at the gelato shop. Ah, the last time she’d enjoyed the company of another person that much…well, it must have been back when Ruth Reichl was editor of Gourmet. In other words, ages ago. 

“What do you even need a date for anyway?” Rey shot back, feeling irritated. “We all know that you can find what you want whenever you want it.”

“That’s either an insult veiled as a compliment or a compliment veiled as an insult,” Abby retorted. “I’m not sure which and I don’t care to find out. Just because I have an easy time getting some doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for you. You need something more and you aren’t going to get it smelling like cruciferous vegetables and meat grease.” 

“No one can smell me on MkeSpce anyway.” 

Rey was ready for this dinner to be over. She was going to have a double scoop of gelato tonight. 

Abby got up, glancing over Rey’s head with a quick scan of the room. “Gotta pee.” 

Rey pointed her index finger over Abby’s left shoulder to the corner of the restaurant with the bathroom signs. Great, she was just going to suggest they signal the waitress and start splitting up the bill. Another responsibility she always had to take the lead on, dutifully pulling out the calculator app when the time came and remembering to add a tip large enough that Abby complained. That’s what she got for choosing to be just another garden variety accountant. 

The bill came over swiftly, dropped off by a waiter with a slight frame but wildly sashaying hips. He was dressed in a fuchsia dress shirt and black pants like the rest of the front of the house staff. It wasn’t a usual color for fine dining employees, but when you considered the company of the orchid plants on each table, potted orchids behind the bar, and the neon sign reminding people they were at THE ORCHID BAR, it made a little more sense. “Take your time,” he had said before leaving her alone to face the damage. 

“Oy Vey,” she mumbled as she opened the calculator app on the phone. Seventeen dollars for Brussel Sprouts? It was conceivable to her, but to Abby this was going to be even more dire than going four months without a hookup. Speaking of her friend, where was Abby? Usually an efficient bathroom user, she seemed to be taking much longer than normal. Maybe she’d found a victim to take home on her way to or from the facilities. Rey held back a snicker. She knew it wasn’t nice, but she was exhausted with the same run-around conversation they had each week. She loved Abby with all her heart, but sometimes she wished they didn’t have to spend so much time together. She’d be a great friend to see a few times a week instead of every free minute at home, multiple times a day on Facetime when Abby was bored, at dinner that Rey made every night except Fridays, where she still had to see Abby’s face and sometimes, as it was looking like now, she even had to pay for Abby’s dinner.

“Son of a bitch.”

Rey let the words slip out. She’d been duped again. 

She stood up and again caught another look from the couple at the table next to hers. “Sorry,” she said as she willed her roommate back into sight. Please, she thought, please don’t let this be happening again. What kind of friend would do this to their roommate not once, not twice, but on three occasions? Abby had promised, crossed pinkies and all, to never dine and dash on Rey again. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen for it. Here she was, again, in the lurch, paying for two Trout with Spring Allums, the side of Crispy Sprouts with Pancetta, and not two but four glasses of Rose. All sorts of other expletives crossed her mind but she refrained from letting them exit her lips. Profanity suited some, but it had always felt foreign in her mouth. Her cheeks actually burned remembering the phrase she’d let slip a few moments ago. No, she was not a person who displayed her anger with curses. She was composed. She had composure. This was the mantra she repeated to herself as she reached in her large purse and dug around for her wallet. 

I am composed and calm, she said to herself, as her hand brushed against a pocket mirror. I am calm and composed, she said, as she felt lipsticks, chapsticks, and her hairbrush with her hand. I am so very calm, she told herself. So, so, very calm. I am a grown-up. 

This was not working. The mantras had no effect because now there was another crisis. Her hand was not locating a wallet, just some pennies and cookie crumbs. Her adrenaline spiked again. She pulled the purse wide with both hands and began searching with her eyes as well. 

“Well, fuck me,” she finally announced. 

Rey Palpatine slumped in her seat. Her once enjoyable dinner was now officially ruined.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There was only one thing to be done. It was entirely out of character. It was stooping to lower levels than she was comfortable with, but it was possible. Abby had shown her that. Multiple times now, she reminded herself. All that was left to do was work up the courage. 

As well as not raise suspicion, she noted.

Okay. So, the plan was to just act like she too was headed to the restroom. 

Act calm. Maybe not too calm. You should act like you need to pee. Pretty badly, she figured, if you were jetting to the restroom instead of waiting until you had finished with the whole paying thing.   
Okay then. 

She shifted and squirmed a tiny bit in her chair. 

She prayed that the table next to her could just keep their eyes to themselves. Her skirt slid up a tiny bit and she fixed the near faux pas quickly. She’d borrowed this skirt on Abby’s insistence. It wasn’t even her style. Squirming complete, she fumbled to stand with skirt preserving her modesty and stood up, her eyes focused on her supposed destination. Fumbling with the straps on her purse, she finally slung the bag over her shoulder and began the long walk before what she envisioned as a harrowing run away from a place she’d never be able to show her face again. How dare Abby ruin this for her also. She would never taste the magnificent sprouts again. Oh wait, here they were. She let out a small belch, covering her mouth with her hand in order to trap it. Remain cool! she chided herself. Acting like I’m heading to the bathroom…slightly veer off course towards the door…act like an entitled princess…you are going to get away with it…oh yeah! This isn’t so hard! Rey smiled at herself. She could totally get away with this.

“Missy, eh, Missy!” 

Oh no. The reckoning had arrived. She recognized the waiter’s voice. Don’t turn around, don’t turn around, she willed herself. Just keep walking. Pretend you hear nothing. “Hey, princess!” he intoned, closer now. She felt his touch on her shoulder and before she knew it, the purse was off her shoulder and swung into McGrabby Hand’s face. 

THWACK! The heavy bag hit the Jonas brother lookalike in the face and he staggered back a few steps. The next few moments happened in slow motion as the kitchen doors burst open and two apron-clad individuals came out to see what was causing such a commotion. A short female bartender rushed over as well. The hostess held up a finger to the couple at the podium and left her station too. Soon, it seemed every employee in the building was hovering around their friend. Someone had an ice pack they handed to the man. The bartender began to shout, “What the hell! What the hell!” as everyone else encircled Rey. 

Oh my God, she thought.

“Do you want to press charges?” a dark-haired gentleman broke through the group of concerned employees. “I’m a cop,” he addressed Jonas Brother and Rey recognized the judgemental eyes. That was the gentleman that had sat next to her and Abby all night. Of course, he’d want to press charges against the two loudmouth girls for any possible reason he could and he’d probably encourage this waiter to do the same. Why had she reacted with violence? She felt hot tears start to fall down her face as she stared at the door. “What happened?” she heard murmured. 

“Who are you?” the shrill bartender was suddenly in her face. “You gonna skip out on us? You gonna get violent when you can’t? What the fuck, girl? What the fuck!” 

“Lay off her, Amy,” one of the kitchen aprons said, “Let the cop handle it.” 

No, no, don’t let the cop handle it! Rey thought. He already hates me. 

The injured waiter removed the ice pack from his face and Rey felt a hundred times worse than before. She had forgotten her purse she was carrying that evening had a large metal buckle on the front. That buckle had hit the waiter square under his eye, leaving a large and hideous bruise that was quickly swelling. 

“I’m sorry! So sorry!” she shook, dropping the bag on the floor. 

“I’m not going to press charges,” he said. “Amy, can you bring me a shot?”

Once the crew realized that he was capable of speech, they seemed to remember they were operating inside a full restaurant on a Friday night and dissipated back to their stations. Shrill Amy flittered back to the bar, shaking her head with approval. 

“You sure?” Grumpy Cop asked.

“Yeah,” said the man. “I’m tired. She looks sorry. Let’s not make this a thing.”

Rey felt relief flood her body. Maybe she was not going to become a convicted felon after all.

“Can I leave, then?” she addressed the cop. The dine and dash seemed to have been forgotten due to the extent of the waiter’s injury. The cop gestured towards the door. If he did have something to add, she assumed it would be “scram.”

“No!” yelled a high-pitched voice. Amy was back with the shot. “She didn’t pay! The other one already left! They had a full meal! She can’t just leave.” Half the shot splashed over the rim of the glass. Amy handed off the rest in the direction of the waiter’s expectantly hands without looking at him.

“Is that true?” the off duty cop asked with a sigh. His date was now giving him the same sort of nasty looks they had bestowed on Abby earlier this evening. 

“Yes,” Rey admitted. 

Amy now stood between the cop and Rey. “I can handle it,” she said. She made a little shooing motion back towards the cop’s table. “I’ll send over some free dessert, you go.” 

He wasn’t used to being directed, but he chose the opportunity to escape back to diffuse the situation with his own dining companion, nodding thanks towards Amy as he retreated. With the cop’s back now turned, Amy dug her sharp acrylics into Rey’s soft upper arm. “Follow me,” she hissed.

Rey turned to the waiter again, “I’m so sorry” she moaned as another burp, unfortunately, escaped from her mouth. This was, hands down, the second worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life.   
Amy escorted her over to a door with a porthole window. 

The entrance to another world. 

Rey’s mind flashed to the worst-case scenario. This lady meant to escort her into the kitchen and chop off her hand for stealing. Or she was going to burn her with some hot oil or some other terrible unforeseen kitchen torture. Amy was that type. She shuddered and braced herself. Stranger things happened every day, she told herself. Rey Palpatine was usually a rule follower. She was a polite, courteous, and cautious woman who had pretended for a few moments that she was a reckless hooligan who could get away with breaking the law. And now, she was going to pay big time. Amy held the door open, “After you, Little Robber Girl.” 

Rey took a big inhale and stepped forth into the steamy kitchen where her life would change forever.


End file.
